


Stuck

by Sylph_of_Breath



Category: Homestuck, Lost
Genre: Airplane Crashes, Blood, Dead People, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, Serious Injuries, traumatic event
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:29:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29754792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylph_of_Breath/pseuds/Sylph_of_Breath
Summary: Four adults crash on an Island and the world will never be the same.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, thanks for coming!
> 
> This is my most ambitious project to date, combining my absolute favorite piece of media of all time (Lost) with one of my other favorite pieces of media of all time (Homestuck,) and will surely be a long, epic, but hopefully entertaining journey for all involved! I plan to follow many of the plot points from Lost, though loosely enough and arranged differently enough that there won't be any _exact_ spoilers, but if you haven't watched Lost and plan to someday do so (you absolutely should,) I would still recommend doing that before reading this! Maybe in chapter notes I'll try to list how far into Lost the chapter might slightly spoil, so if you are watching Lost for the first time and want to at least start reading this before you finish, you can safely do so. 
> 
> I've also never done an ongoing fic, so I will be figuring out the mechanics of that as I go for a while! I'm hoping to stick to at least a monthly update schedule (that seems to be about what most people do...?) but that may change depending on my other project load/my life/whatever I want, but I'll try to give updates on my progress either here or on Twitter (@sylphofbreath12) Tags will be updated as needed as I go, but I expect there to be some pretty heavy stuff reminiscent of some of the heavier stuff in both Lost and Homestuck, but with plenty of lighter, fun stuff mixed in as well! 
> 
> Thank you, Namaste, and good luck.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **John: Open your eyes.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter CWs - 
> 
> Blood, gore, death, serious injury, decapitation
> 
> This chapter doesn't spoil Lost beyond the very first scene!

**John: Open your eyes.**

You open your eyes. Green, blue, and white greet you in a strange, unfriendly blur. You blink, but the blur remains. You blink again. Nothing.

_Glasses._

You realize you don’t feel the familiar light pressure against the bridge of your nose. _Where are your glasses?_

You blink.

You do feel the familiar pressure behind your left ear, just enough stronger and out of place to notice. _Glasses._ There, only a bit askew, you conclude, and your panic subsides as quickly as it arose. You begin to lift your right hand to set them back in place, and are startled to find that doing so hurts. _Why does it hurt?_ Panic takes you again.

 _Why are your glasses crooked? Why does your arm hurt?_ As you frantically consider these questions, instead of finding answers, more questions just flood in and overwhelm your thoughts. You are lying on your back - _why are you lying on your back?_ The ground beneath you is hard, and the bare skin of your hands against it feels dirt, grass, and dried leaves - _why are you on the ground?_ Your head throbs, your back aches, your left thigh stings, then stings worse, then becomes nearly excruciating as you acknowledge it, your pant leg is warm and wet, more so near the epicenter of the pain, but spreading, and the thick fabric clings unnervingly to your leg - _why?_

Somehow, your left arm rises of its own volition to your face and sets your glasses back in place. The blur above arranges itself into shoots and leaves of bamboo, sky, and a few innocuous, fluffy clouds.

_Where are you? Why are you here?_

_What do you remember?_ Your name is John Egbert. You live in Seattle. _This isn’t Seattle._

 _Where are you?_ You are on vacation in Australia. You wanted to hold a koala. _No._ Your vacation ended. You were going home. _Why are you here?_ You were on a plane.

_You were on a plane._

_Why aren’t you still on a plane?_

You were watching a movie. You were watching _Con Air._ You were having a drink - a rum and coke, heavy on the rum, courtesy of the cute Australian stewardess. She was flirting with you. She liked you. Or maybe she was just good at her job? _What was her name again?_ You wondered if it was appropriate to ask a stewardess for her number while she was working.

_Then what?_

Turbulence, just a little bit. The captain announced the fasten seat belt sign. You were annoyed that he interrupted your movie to do so, especially because _your_ seatbelt was already tightly fastened. Then the turbulence got worse. Then your seatback screen blacked out. You were annoyed again. Then the oxygen mask dropped. Then the screaming started. You were scared. You hastily ripped out your earbuds with one hand while reaching out to grab your mask with the other, and then -

_You opened your eyes._

A rustle in the brush to your left falls upon your senses, alerting you to the fact that your ears had been ringing, but the ringing was now beginning to fade. You turn your head towards the sound, despite the protests of your neck muscles. The bamboo stalks are shaking down a path exactly in your direction, and your panic grips you again. _You should run._ But your body is frozen in fear, and stiff with pain, and it’s getting so close that it’s already too late…

A large, white, face emerges from the cluster of stalks, followed by a furry, four-legged body. _A dog._

_A dog?_

Your blue eyes meet it’s black in a brief moment of mutual bewilderment. It tilts its head. Then it curls back its lips and lets its tongue fall out over its teeth, seeming to be satisfied with whatever conclusion it must have drawn about the situation. It runs away again into the jungle. You are surprised to find that you try to call after it, only to then find your voice catch in your tight, scratchy throat.

You force yourself to sit up, careful to assign most of the work of doing so to your right leg and left arm. Still, the movement intensifies the pain in every part of your body, and you wince, but manage to slowly make it upright.

The ensuing bloodrush nearly knocks you right back down, but you close your eyes and steady yourself with a few intentional breaths. You open your eyes again, and your senses begin to sharpen as they adjust to the more familiar angle in relation to the rest of the world. Once you feel more stable, you muster all your courage to look at your right arm. A nasty bruise is forming over most of the wrist area, but you slowly, painfully, manage to move it just marginally up and down, then side to side. _Not broken. Probably sprained._ You look down to your left thigh and gasp. There is a shard of bamboo sticking out of it, and the majority of your khaki pant leg is dark red with blood. You close your eyes again, swallowing hard against the encroaching nausea.

_Focus, John._

Adrenaline pumps ever quicker through your veins, and without opening your eyes, without thinking, your good hand wraps itself around the bamboo and -

_One, two, thee…_

Pulls.

It’s agonizing, and a sharp sob pushes its way past your lips. Your eyes become wet as you squeeze them tighter still. You breathe, _one, two, three,_ and open them again to look at the results of your impromptu self-surgery.

Blood pours out of the now visible hole in your leg, quickly re-soaking your pants with darker, shinier red. Your head feels newly light, and your pulse pounds ever louder in your ears. But before you’re once again unable to hear the world around you, you hear a distant, dulled scream, and you hear which direction it’s coming from.

You shut out the pain, the fear, the weakness, and you force yourself to stand. You turn towards the direction of the scream, and you run.

You don’t take in your surroundings - you can’t. All you know is that you’re running through thick jungle, slowly and unsteadily, but without hesitation. Thankfully, you don’t have to run very far before you can’t help but notice the sudden drastic change in your environment, and you stop. It’s bright, so bright, your feet sink into the now soft ground beneath you, and the view ahead is just endless blue. _Beach._ For a split second, peace overtakes you, having accomplished some unpremeditated, arbitrary goal of emerging from the jungle. Then the corner of your eye catches movement, and you turn your head to the left.

A woman with long, thick, dark hair is standing in the near distance, frantically turning and pacing and yelling… _something,_ and you realize that you once again can’t hear anything but the pounding in your head. Half of her face is covered with blood, originating from a gash in her forehead, with a thin clean streak running down the mask of red from her tears. Another woman, a petite blonde in a tattered suit, is performing CPR on an older man. The man suddenly stirs, and the blonde sits him up, says something to him, and then gets up and looks around, presumably for her next patient. Another blonde, a man, in a t-shirt and ripped jeans and a stony expression, emerges from the ocean with a woman slung over his shoulders, who he gently sets down on the wet sand before turning and going right back into the water, where you now notice at least three or four more sets of flailing arms splashing above the surface. And then you notice the plane.

Dozens of pieces of mangled, twisted, burning metal, only some vaguely recognizable as airplane part-shaped, litter the beach for dozens of yards ahead. Suitcases, drink carts, and smaller, indistinguishable debris are scattered even more densely between. The largest piece is a section of the cabin, torn clean open, exposing the seats inside, some of which still contain pieces of what used to be people of varying shapes and sizes. In the first visible row of seats, you recognize the uniform of the Skaian Airways flight attendants on a shapely female body with the same olive skin of the stewardess you were flirting with - _fifteen minutes ago?_ you guess, with absolutely no sense of your own accuracy. The body is missing a head.

In an instant, your stomach turns, and your rum and coke pushes back up, along with the rest of the contents of your stomach, stinging your throat and violently shooting out of your mouth. Your vision rapidly blurs, and darkness closes in from the outside. The last thing you see is a petite blonde woman in a tattered suit running in your direction, looking directly at you with grave concern, and silently speaking. Then you find yourself somehow on your knees, and falling forward.

_You close your eyes._


	2. Washed Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Dave: Open your eyes.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter CWs - 
> 
> More blood, gore, and death, drowning, drunk sex mention, panic attack
> 
> This chapter still doesn't spoil Lost too much beyond the first two episodes (Pilot Parts 1&2)

**Dave: Open your eyes.**

You open your eyes. The world that you find is distorted, unsteady, and strangely blue. Your eyes sting. _Why do your eyes sting?_

 _Water_. Your lips part in confusion, and the taste of salt hits your tongue. _Ocean_.

_Why are you in the ocean?_

It doesn’t matter why, not yet. All that matters is finding the surface. You can already feel the ache building in your chest as your lungs beg for air. _How long has it been since you took a breath? It doesn’t matter. Just find the surface. Find the light. Swim up._

You twist your head around every which way until you register a sandy floor a few feet away. _Down_. Finding down means you’ve found up, so you look up, and even filtered through the water, the sunlight burns your eyes. You look away before you can get a sense of the distance, but knowing won’t make a difference, anyway. You kick, pull, claw desperately towards the light, biting your lip to resist the growing temptation to draw breath. The ache in your chest gets stronger, your pulse accelerates, your mind reels in fear, but you swim on. It’s getting lighter, you’re getting closer. Then it gets darker. Your vision starts to fail. _Just keep swimming. You have to keep swimming._

The first thing that alerts you that you’ve breached the surface is the loud, discordant sounds of screaming, splashing, and burning. The second thing is the sudden unbearable brightness of the world. You squeeze your eyes closed as you gasp in a sharp breath, which you then release in a moan of both pain and relief. For a few seconds you just tread water and breathe, each breath more comfortable than the last, and you gradually open your eyes.

A few feet ahead something small and black bobs upon the waves. You open your eyes a bit more until you can identify the object. You swim towards it, grab your shades, and place them over your eyes, which you now allow to open fully. You spin around to take in your now clearer surroundings. A few yards ahead is a beach, to your relief, but to your horror, it’s full of burning wreckage and bloody people, some screaming, some completely still, some in pieces. You focus in on another noise behind you, a frantic splashing and intermittent, staccato coughs and gasps. Without much thought, you spin yourself around and swim towards the sound. You find a woman, maybe in her sixties, struggling and mostly failing to keep her head above the water, and without much thought, you dive down under her arm, pull it firmly against your shoulder, surface, and then make your way to the beach.

Minutes later, that woman had a heart attack and died. The young man you went back for next had already drowned by the time you reached him, or at least by the time you pulled his lifeless body onto the sand. There was someone else out there, too, at least one more, but when you tried to locate them again from the beach, they were nowhere in sight. Just as you were about to head back into the water anyway to look, you collapsed. You didn’t save anybody.

That was two days ago.

Now you sit further up that same beach, staring out at that same ocean, quieter and more serene than it has any right to be after the havoc it had wrought. But that’s stupid. The ocean didn’t do shit. The ocean doesn’t care. Sometimes planes just crash. It’s nobody’s fault that they died. Well, nobody’s but yours.

You’re sitting under a makeshift sun shelter of driftwood and complementary airline blankets, beside the dude with the fucked up leg. You figured the least you could do is volunteer for a few babysitting shifts for the poor guy while resting up between water or firewood hauls. Apparently he just ran out of the jungle with a giant hole in his thigh, spurting blood, puked, then immediately collapsed, and hasn’t woken up since. Kind of badass, really. You hope you get to actually meet the guy at some point. He’s not half bad looking, either, aside from the ghostly pallor and nasty black eye he’s currently sporting. _But that’s probably not something you should be thinking about a complete stranger that may die any minute, is it? Dammit, Strider._

The doctor found his wallet in his pants after she cut them off. His name is John Egbert. He’s your age, just a few months younger. He lives in Seattle. His eyes are blue. He’s an organ donor, or at least, he will be if he manages to make it off this island alive.

Two days is starting to be too long a time to not have made it off this island, for Mr. Egbert, especially, but for any of you, and your little disaster site beach camp is beginning to buzz with tension as people begin to realize that. _Why hasn’t anybody come for us?_ _Don’t they know where we are?_ Nobody here knows the answers to these questions, so nobody’s asking anybody. But you can tell that people sure as hell are starting to ask themselves. You know you are.

You hear a small sound beside you, small enough that you may have imagined it, but you look anyway and see that John is starting to stir slightly. He’s done this a few times over the past few days, but this time he doesn’t stop. You get up on your knees and shuffle over until you’re right next to him, looking down over his face. He opens his eyes.

“ _Wh_ …”

“Oh, shit, yo, uh, don’t move, dude! Just hold on…”

You stand and turn around. You don’t see the doctor, but not too far ahead, the lady with the super long hair and the stitches in her forehead emerges from the jungle holding up the front hem of her skirt, in which she’s transporting several coconuts.

“Yo! Hey, Coconut Girl!”

You should probably know a few more people's names after two days, considering there’s only about two dozen of you, but you've been keeping busy, and keeping your distance as much as you feasibly can. You didn't think you'd still know any of these people two days later, so why get attached to anyone who's just going to end up a reminder of the worst thing that's ever happened to you? Just pull your weight and keep your head down until the helicopters come, and then go home, call your shrink, and try to get back to work. That was the plan, anyway, but every hour spent on this beach just unravels your plan further and further…

Coconut Girl abruptly turns to you with a look that’s both surprised and slightly put off.

“Yeah, you! Can you go find the doctor? This dude’s waking up!”

Her eyes open wider, and any offence she may have taken over being referred to as “Coconut Girl” seems to have faded. She releases her skirt and the coconuts tumble into the sand.

“Oh my God! OK, yeah! I’ll be right back!”

You watch her run off into the camp before turning your attention back to John.

“OK, dude, doctor’s coming. Just chill, OK? Don’t do anything stupid like try to move or talk or some shit.”

His eyes focus in on your face above.

“ _Wait… are… aren't you…?_ ”

Then his eyes roll back and fall closed again.

“Hey, yo, no no no, don’t go back to sleep, man! Stay with me, bro! Come on!”

You lean down and lay a series of gentle slaps on his cheek until his eyes weakly open again.

“Shit, dude, don’t fucking scare me like that! I told you not to do anything stupid, OK? Just stay awake and chill for like two fucking minutes until Doc Lalonde gets here, OK? _Fuck_ …”

He looks at you, but doesn’t answer or move, which tells you he understands. You hear two women’s voices approach from behind, and turn to see that, to your relief, Coconut Girl and the doctor are both quickly approaching.

"What happened? Did he say anything?" Dr. Lalonde curtly asks as she kneels down next to John.

"Uh, no, no, he just like, made a noise and opened his eyes."

You decide it's not enough of a lie to have any real medical consequences, and getting into the question he was trying to ask you would probably just be an unnecessary distraction right now.

"Help me get him up." The doctor demands of you, firmly, but not harshly. You step around to the other side of him and get on your knees, then the two of you bury your hands under his back, shoulders, and head, and slowly lift.

"Water, Jade."

 _Jade, that's right._ You knew it was some kind of jewel or something.

"Now, please!"

Jade startles and kneels beside the doctor to hand off the bottle of water she'd been holding. The doctor lifts it to John's lips and slowly tips it forward.

"Slowly, Mr. Egbert, small sips. Good."

She puts the bottle down in the sand and puts her hands on either side of John's dull face, turning it towards her.

"Blink if you can hear me, please."

He blinks.

"Excellent. Now look up please, eyes only. Down. Left. And right."

He complies.

"Very good. Are you able to speak?"

He opens his mouth, and a few seconds later, breathes out a hoarse yes. Doctor Lalonde’s lips curl up just the minutest amount into a small, controlled smile.

"Well then, let me be the first to welcome you back to the land of the living, Mr. Egbert. Though I regret to inform you that the land of the living is as specific as I'm able to accurately describe our current whereabouts."

" _John… please… Mr. Egbert is…_ "

He closes his eyes before he's able to finish his joke, but thankfully opens them again shortly after.

"Your father, I presume. Please, John, as your doctor I must advise against spending your precious little stamina on humor at this particular time. I look forward to hearing your myriad of doubtlessly uproarious quips once you've fully recovered, which, I assure you, you will. I'm very good. Rose Lalonde, by the way, is my name. Doctor Rose Lalonde. I’m pleased to finally meet you properly."

 _Rose, that's right._ You knew it was some kind of plant.

He looks up and around at his surroundings with a blank expression. He meets Jade's eyes first. She smiles warmly.

"Hi, John! I'm Jade! I'm not a doctor, well, not that kind of doctor, anyway, I've just been helping to keep an eye on you while you've been asleep. I'm so glad you're feeling better, everyone's been really worried about you!"

He nods slightly in her direction before continuing his scan, soon locking eyes with you.

"And you're…"

"Dave. Hey." You cut him off, but he carries on anyway.

"Dave… Strider! Right?"

The women both shoot inquisitive looks your way, and you can feel your cheeks heat up a bit.

"Strider, yeah. That's me. Just try to relax, man."

"I knew it! What are you…"

A series of coughs interrupt him, and draw Rose's attention again.

"Alright, that's enough meeting and greeting for you now, John. Let's try a bit more water."

She holds the bottle back up to his lips and he drinks, slightly more enthusiastically than before. She lowers the bottle again and John continues.

"How long have I been out?"

"About two days," Rose answers, "with a few brief moments of near lucidity throughout, thankfully enough to get some water and a bit of food into you, as I've unfortunately yet to come across an IV bush on this confounded island. But don't worry, I fully intend to leave a scathing review of the place once this is all over and done with."

She smiles just a bit more freely, with just a small spark of mischief in her eye. But John's face falls.

"Nobody’s come? Why?"

The three healthiest among you share an awkward look, silently debating who gets to answer that, and how. Jade decides to take one for the team.

"Well, we, um, don't really know…"

Somehow his face seems to get even paler, but with your arms still supporting him, he manages to stay upright and fully conscious. But the awkward silence persists while he processes the news.

"Has anyone tried the transceiver?" he eventually asks.

You don't know what that is, and from the looks of it, neither do Jade or Rose.

"The radio, from the cockpit. Did either of the pilots make it?"

Jade steps in again.

"We, um, haven't found the cockpit. Or the pilots. The whole front of the plane broke off before we crashed here, and nobody knows where it landed. I guess we didn’t think we’d need to be the ones to try to find them…”

Another moment of silence passes.

“Though, actually, I do remember seeing some smoke in the jungle just after the crash - that must have been another part of the plane, right? Could have been the front or the back, I guess, so that’s a fifty-fifty shot we’d find the trans-i-doodle there, and I’d say those odds are worth a good hike! If I can only just remember where exactly it was coming from, I was a little rattled at the time, haha…”

Jade stands before finishing her sentence, wanders a few steps out from under the shelter, turns towards the jungle with a look of intense concentration on her face, and continues to mumble incoherently under her breath.

“There!” She suddenly shouts, pointing off diagonally to the right, and literally jumps with excitement. “I remember I was standing not too far from here calling for Bec when I saw it right behind that tall tree!”

“OK, well, good!” John adds. “I guess just let me know when you’re ready to go and I’ll…”

“Ah, there’s that famous Egbertian wit, again. I’m very pleased you seem to be feeling better, John, but if you really think you’re going anywhere anytime soon, I think perhaps I’d better check your head a bit more thoroughly.”

John slouches back, embarrassed.

“Well, she shouldn’t go alone, and I’m the only one who knows what it looks like.”

Rose’s sly smile fades to a slight, though very sincere frown.

“John, you don’t seem to understand your circumstances, so allow me to clarify that you very nearly lost your leg or your life less than forty-eight hours ago. Not minutes ago you could barely speak. I do not wish to restrain you, but if you try to go into that jungle, it would be my moral imperative as a medical professional to do so.”

“I’ll go.”

You hear yourself saying it before you consciously decide to say it. But you quickly realize that you would have offered anyway. What’s the harm of a short hike if it might get you off this damn rock? You’re no longer needed for Egbert-sitting duty, so you have the afternoon free.

“What’s the transmitter thingie look like?”

John sighs in defeat, but then accepts the situation and cooperates.

“ _Transceiver_. It’s… well, it’s like a big walkie-talkie. Basically.”

You stand and turn to Jade, who has since stepped back closer to the rest of the group.

“Big walkie-talkie, I think we can handle that. Let me just get my bag and a few waters and I’m good to go. You good?”

She smiles at you.

“Yeah! I just need to get some water too and I’ll be ready steady! Oh, hey! This could actually be kinda fun! Plus, it’ll give me a chance to keep looking for Bec along the way! That’s my dog, by the way, it’s short for Becquerel.”

 _Geez, this poor chick thinks her dog survived a fucking plane crash._ It crosses your mind how much more irritating that’s likely to make your journey into the heart of darkness with her, then you realize how cruel a thought that is, and brush it away to just feel sorry for her.

“Is it a big white fluffy dog?” John chimes in from below. Jade's eyes and her grin grow impossibly wide in response.

“ _Yes!_ Did you see him?!”

“Yeah, just for a second when I first woke up. He ran off into the jungle again, but it didn’t look like he was hurt or anything.”

 _Well, shit._ You stand corrected.

“ _Oh!_ Thank you, John!”

She falls back to her knees and kisses his cheek. He just faintly, awkwardly chuckles in response, but Rose looks newly perturbed at the interference with her patient.

“Well, I think perhaps you’d better get on with it if you hope to make it back before dark.” She suggests.

“Yeah, definitely! OK, come on Dave, let’s go!”

Jade runs off towards the center of camp to gather her stuff. You just watch her for a second, still a bit baffled at her seemingly endless font of cheeriness in these most dire of circumstances, but then start jogging behind.

*****

**Dave: Open your eyes.**

You open your eyes and are met with the beige, textured ceiling of your moderately priced suite at the Sydney Holiday Inn, just barely illuminated by the thin streak of sunlight coming through the gap in the curtains. You instinctively start to roll towards the nightstand to grab your shades, but find a sleeping woman blocking your path. _Oh, right. Karen. Or maybe Karla? Kendra?_

You hear the toilet flush, and seconds later, a man in ill-fitting tighty-whities steps out of the bathroom. _Oh, right. Him._ You don’t even have a guess as to what his name is. He stops dead in his tracks by the foot of the bed when he notices that you're awake and gawking at him, and the two of you lock eyes for a few awkward, silent seconds.

"Morning." He eventually manages.

"Morning." You repeat.

You look at each other for another second, then you both look away. You just sit and wait and hope for him to tell you he’s leaving, but he just clears his throat, putting the onus on you to kick him out.

"Hey, so, this was fun and all, but I gotta catch a flight pretty soon…”

"Oh, yeah, no worries, mate. We'll get out of your hair."

 _Oh right,_ we _. They're together. Wonderful._ Way to lean hard into a negative stereotype. At least you no longer have to worry about waking this lady up and kicking her out next. He steps around to the other side of the bed, leans down, and gently shakes her arm and whispers in her ear.

"Jeannie, darling, it's time to wake up and go now, love."

_Jeannie? Not even close._

Jeannie groans and rolls over as if to indicate that she has no plans to get up at this time, but then she opens her eyes and they meet yours. She blushes slightly and you both look away, but then she sits up.

“Yeah, OK, let me just... ” she shimmies over to the edge of the bed and stands instead of finishing her sentence.

You force yourself to look anywhere else in the room while the two of them wander around to your right, gathering and pulling on their scattered clothing, occasionally mumbling an awkward word or two to each other, but trying to avoid your attention as much as you’re trying to avoid theirs. When the motion in the corner of your eye stops, you chance to look over, and see that they are both dressed and standing side by side facing you. You notice their shirts, and have to fight hard not to outwardly cringe. On his is a large, close-up image of Owen Wilson’s face underneath text reading “how high do you even have to be?” in multi-color comic sans. On hers, a shitty drawing of a basketball player dunking, captioned with “ahllyyoop for the SLAM-DUNK.” _Oh, right. That. Because you weren't already wallowing in enough self-loathing._

You remember now that you first encountered Jeannie and… Mr. Jeannie, at the Q&A after your screening. You remember because they were amongst only a few dozen people in the room, and a lot of empty chairs. All because the geniuses in charge of scheduling for the Sydney Cult Classics Film Convention, (SCultCon for short,) put the screening of _SBAHJ 2: The SBAHJquel_ at the same time as The Room. You texted your agent when you found out, and she said she’d look into it and get back to you. Unsurprisingly, just as you were boarding your flight to Sydney, you got a text back saying _Sorry, nothing I could do,_ immediately followed up with _How’s it coming on that screenplay?_ You didn’t respond. You seriously doubt she looked into it.

So you watched _SBAHJ 2_ for the millionth time, in a mostly empty convention hall, all the time thinking how you'd much rather be next door watching _The Room_ with Tommy Wiseau instead. It didn’t help that every few minutes during the screening, you could hear the uproarious laughter and applause of that considerably larger audience through the shitty convention center walls. But, as a wise man once said, that’s life…

After the movie, Jeannie came up and asked a question that was, surprisingly, not one that you get asked at literally every single public appearance, as well as the occasional Starbucks or grocery store. Of course, you don’t remember what it was, but you do remember it wasn’t _when is SBAHJ 4 coming out?_ or _do you still keep in touch with Ben and Owen?_ or _do you have any big plans for the tenth anniversary coming up?_ So when they found you again at the bar later that night and approached you, you were feeling a little more amenable to them than the usual fan encounter. You were also feeling a little more needy of validation than usual, and a little less inhibited. You offered to buy them drinks, which turned into several rounds of drinks, and, well, here they are.

_Jesus, you are one sad piece of shit._

Well, regardless of how you got here, you now find yourself naked in a moderately priced hotel bed, looking up at some Australian randos sporting shitty memes you came up with when you were twelve, wondering what the least uncomfortable way to get them the hell out of here immediately would be. But the mere vibes you must be emanating are enough for them to have seemingly gotten the hint. The husband takes it upon himself to speak.

“Well, thanks again for everything…”

He pulls out his wallet, and your heart sinks into your stomach. _Dear God, please don’t let this man try to fucking pay you right now._ Thankfully, he just pulls out a business card and sets it on the nightstand.

“So, uh, give us a ring if you’re ever in Sydney again, drinks on us next time, yeah?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” you answer, without any attempt to sound sincere.

“Right, cheers.”

You don’t even bother responding this time, but they finally leave.

You fall back onto the bed in shame. That turns into an impromptu shame-nap, which is fine, because you were very much exaggerating how soon your flight is. You wake up an hour later, shower, get dressed, pack, and try to straighten up the room a bit. You spot the business card on the nightstand again as you’re placing the maids’ tip. You walk right past it on your way out.

*****

“Hey, Dave, can I ask you something?”

You’re about a half hour into your hike with Jade, and to this point, haven’t said too much to each other. You, at least, have certainly felt some discomfort at that, but she’s mostly just seemed pretty focused on the hike and observing her surroundings, as well as calling her dog every few minutes, mitigating some of the potential awkwardness. So it takes you a bit by surprise when she suddenly poses you a direct question, and even though you’re pretty sure you know more or less what it is she’s planning to ask, you welcome the conversation just for conversation’s sake. It might not be your favorite conversation, but it’s at least one that you have a great deal of experience navigating.

“Go for it.”

“Sorry if this is weird or rude or whatever, but… are you like, famous?”

“That kinda depends on who you ask.”

“Well, it’s just that John knew who you were already, and he seemed pretty impressed to meet you…”

“Yeah, well, I mean, obviously I don’t know John all that well, personally, that is, but he is pretty much exactly the demographic that would argue favorably in the great ‘is Dave Strider famous?’ debate.”

Jade just looks at you inquisitively.

“In other words, yeah, sure, I’m kinda famous. In certain circles.”

Her expression brightens into one of excitement.

“Oh! That’s so cool! What do you do?”

“I make movies.”

“Wow! Like, a cameraman or something?”

Despite your ever-lowering self-esteem and ever-rising imposter syndrome, you find that the question still stings.

“No, I’m not a - I _write_ and _direct_ movies. And sometimes produce.”

Her eyes widen in a mix of embarrassment and awe.

“Oh, _wow!_ That’s amazing! Anything I might know?”

“SBAHJ?”

Her face twists back to inquisitive.

“... _spoge?_ ”

“ _Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff._ SBAHJ is the abbreviation.”

She suddenly stops walking, and her mouth falls open. A few seconds later, it curls back up into a wide smile, and she starts cracking up laughing.

“I take it you’ve heard of it then.”

She tries to answer, but more laughter comes out instead. At least another minute passes of her just laughing at you for some uncertain reason, and you just standing there, completely unsure of how to respond. Finally, she takes a deep breath, wipes her eye, and manages to get actual words out.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! It’s just… _wow_ , this is just very much not something I was expecting to come up as part of my plane crash experience! But holy shit! You really made Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff? That was you?”

“Uh, yeah, that was me. Drew the comics, too.”

“Oh my God, my best friend in high school was obsessed with those! She was _constantly_ quoting it! I swear to God, for a whole year, no one could say anything around her without her saying she _warned you about_ that thing, _bro!_ She even dragged me to the midnight premiere of the movie when we were home for spring break sophomore year of college!”

You don’t think you visibly reacted to that, or at least, you didn’t mean to, but Jade still looks slightly embarrassed and tries to backtrack.

“Oh, no, I mean, I did want to see it too! I just don’t really like staying up too late if I can help it. And I’m not crazy about big crowds, so I usually wait til movies have been out a few weeks before I go, or just wait for it to be on Netflix or something, you know?”

“Yeah, sure, makes sense.”

“It was good though! Really funny! Wow, I can’t believe that was you!”

“Yeah, that’s why it says “written and directed by Dave Strider” at the end…”

Her eyes widen in embarrassment, and she looks away, mutters a soft “sorry,” and starts walking again. _God dammit, Strider._ You honestly have no idea why you’re acting so bitter right now. Or why this random weird chick's opinion of your life’s work is apparently so important to you. You take a centering breath and start walking behind her, jogging a bit to catch up.

“No, sorry, it’s fine. Who watches credits anyway? I mean, unless it’s the latest Marvel trash where they make you sit through the whole thing just for an extra three minutes of military propaganda. Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

She seems to perk up a bit at that.

“Well, like I said, I’m not really a movie buff. If it makes you feel better, I don’t even know who directed my favorite movie!”

“What’s your favorite movie?” you respond automatically. She blushes and looks away.

“Oh, gosh, it’s so stupid! You’ll totally laugh at me…”

“You mean like you just laughed at me for a solid minute?”

 _Christ, can you control the words coming out of your mouth for once?_ To your surprise though, Jade seems to read your snarky retort as lighthearted, and she looks back at you with a grin.

“OK, fine! It’s… _FernGully_.”

 _Oh. This random weird chick is fucking adorable_. You let yourself crack a smile.

“Are you shitting me? Who the fuck doesn’t love _FernGully?_ ”

“Um… grown-ups?”

“Nah, fuck that. That shit’s classic. Peak nineties Christian Slater, Tim Curry, Robin Fucking Williams? And then, you know, you got that whole Clinton-era misguided optimism of still thinking there’s any hope at all for the planet, as long as you can trick enough middle-class white kids into giving a shit with fairies and bright colors and uncomplicated morals and shit. Like, don’t worry about the hundred mega corporations responsible for climate change, kids, just plant a tree and make it grow with the power of love and friendship, and everything’s gonna be just fine. Just dance through some glitter puddles with your hot new boyfriend, and he’ll totally quit his minimum wage job cutting down the rainforest to make room for a new cattle ranch, and instead just go around planting seeds for exactly zero dollars an hour, cause it’s the right thing to do. Rainforest fucking saved, bro. There’s no way they’re gonna just replace that dude and that big-ass roving tree murdering machine literally tomorrow. Man, those were the days, am I right? They don’t make shit like _FernGully_ anymore. Damn.”

You look over at Jade and she's staring blankly right back at you.

“Oh, and it was directed by Bill Kroyer, by the way. But he’s mostly known for like, art and animation shit, so there’s really no reason you should have heard of him.”

She just sort of blinks at you a few more times, obviously still trying to dig her way through the huge steaming pile of Strider bullshit you just dropped right on top of her. You feel the urge to fill the silence start tugging at you again, but fight it off so to not make things even worse.

“... _right_. Well, anyway, that’s what first made me want to become a biologist. Well, once I realized I couldn’t actually become a fairy, that is, haha!”

_Oh fucking hell. Of course she's a fucking biologist._

“Oh, I mean - I didn’t mean there’s like, _no_ hope for saving the planet. I just meant like, you know, liberal Hollywood elites like me patting ourselves on the back for recycling our Perrier bottles and walking to Whole Foods with our Sierra Club free membership totebags and then going home to our swimming pools full of stolen desert water sure as hell aren’t gonna do it. But like, actual biologists still can.”

“Haha, yeah, maybe…”

She looks back ahead uncomfortably. A moment of silence passes.

“I don’t actually have a swimming pool. FYI.”

"OK."

You both decide that it’d probably be best to walk on in silence for a little bit. You’re headed up a slight hill now, so at least you can pretend the extra exertion is what's keeping you from talking. It’s kind of true for you at least, but Coconut Girl doesn’t appear to have even broken a sweat. She must be the kind of biologist who treks through uncharted wildernesses, wielding a machete, discovering new kinds of bugs or some shit. That’d be pretty fucking cool, actually, and you’re suddenly surprisingly curious. You decide that letting her talk about herself and her interests is probably a pretty safe way to break the silence without making a complete ass of yourself again, so as soon as your incline levels out, you risk it.

“So, what kind of biologist are you?”

“ _Look!_ ”

Instead of acknowledging your question, she just points ahead to a clearing in the jungle, maybe a quarter mile ahead on the other side of the hill. You look a little closer, and yes, there is definitely a big hunk of metal right in the middle of it. Some of the trees along the perimeter are singed.

“Come on!”

She starts running down the hill towards the crash site, so you follow. To your dismay, she doesn’t stop running when she reaches the bottom, but you manage to only lag a few feet behind her until you reach your destination. You lean against a tree for just a second to stealthily catch your breath. Almost as soon as you look up, you lose it again.

You really thought that the beach wreckage would be the worst thing you’d ever see in your life. You really, really hoped it would be. But the sight before you now is so much worse. Through the ragged, gaping hole where the plane tore off, you can see the oversized, reclining white seats are stained almost completely red. Scattered all around on the ground, amongst spilled designer handbags and shattered champagne bottles, are just senseless, random spatterings of blood, gore, and body parts. So much so, that if you'd seen it in a movie or a _Walking Dead_ episode, you’d have probably laughed at how over the top it all was. But you’re definitely not laughing now.

The largest piece you can identify is a forearm on the ground just in front of the plane, like it had rolled down the aisle to settle there, like it was nothing, just meaningless, unfeeling physics. A few feet from there you see a shoe, expensive, by the look of it, and then you see that there’s a foot inside, with a roughly splintered bone sticking out. You instinctively look down at your feet to try to escape the horror, but you notice something gleaming amongst the dirt and gathered leaves. Then you see that it’s a large diamond ring, still decorating a long, delicate finger.

“ _Dave?_ ”

It’s not until you hear the strangely muffled sound of Jade’s voice that you realize your ears are ringing. You look up to see her face is blurred, and you realize you’re crying. You breathe, and realize that you’re breathing so hard and so fast that it hurts.

“ _Dave, are you OK?_ ”

You fall back against the tree behind you.

*****

“G’day sir, thank you for choosing Skaian Airways, how may I help you today?”

The lady at the check-in counter greets you cheerily as you approach.

“Hey, so I’ve already got a ticket that my, uh, employer, purchased for me, but I was wondering if it was possible to upgrade that to first class?”

“I’d be happy to check that availability for you, sir! May I see your ID please?”

You unzip the outer pocket of your messenger bag and blindly feel around inside for your passport, panicking just a little when you don’t find it immediately, but soon realizing it had just wedged itself between the pages of the book you said you were going to start reading on this trip and never did. You pull it out and hand it over, and the woman flips to the photo page.

“Thank you, Mr. Strider. One moment please…”

She begins rapidly typing.

“Flight 413 to Los Angeles?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Excellent! Well it looks like there are some first class seats still available on that flight, so I’d be happy to process that upgrade for you.”

“Cool.”

She types some more.

“Right then, that will come to five thousand two hundred and seventy-five dollars.”

 _Fuck_. That’s a lot more than you thought it would be. You guess that’s what happens when you’re not used to buying your own plane tickets.

“That’s on top of the coach ticket I already have?” You ask desperately, but doing your best to play it off as just a calm, reasonable, clarifying question with no major emotional motivation whatsoever.

“Yes, sir, a new ticket would be…” she types a bit more. “Nine thousand and fifty dollars.”

You quickly calculate how much of what they paid you to be here will still be left after this, remember the cramped, miserable, unbearably long flight in, and remind yourself that it’s Australian dollars, which means it’s really more like… less than that. So you clench your jaw resolutely, pull out your wallet, and hand over your debit card. She takes it with a smile and a _thank you, sir_ and you watch her stick it into her chip reader. A second passes, and you see her smile drop a bit. She pulls the card out and reinserts it. Then again. You can feel yourself start to sweat.

“Yeah, sometimes the chip’s kinda wonky…” you lie to buy time and hopefully save just a scrap of your dignity. You frantically search your memory - _yes, the payment definitely went through, you checked. But then you treated yourself to that fancy dinner. Then you bought yourself that fancy drink, then another. Then you bought some more drinks for Jeannie and whats-his-face, then a lot more drinks, then a few bottles to bring back to the hotel, then the Uber, and…_ oh. That’s right. You made the mistake of checking your email in the Uber. You had gotten another notice about the overdue mortgage. So you paid it.

 _Jesus, how much of a sad loser do you even have to be to drunkenly pay your mortgage at two am on the way to your own sad drunken threesome?_ Well, on the bright side, you’ll still have a house when you get home. For another few months, at least.

You open your wallet again and scan down the line of credit cards. _Not the green one. Not the blue one. Definitely not the black one. Maybe the gold one?_ You pull it out and hand it over casually.

“Sorry, try this one.”

She gives you a polite but slightly more forced smile as you exchange cards. You say a silent prayer to any deity that may be real and may possibly be listening. But it’s no use. She sticks the gold one in and out of the reader once, then twice, then three times, then swipes it once for good measure, then turns to you with eyes full of pity.

“I’m very sorry sir, it’s telling me there’s insufficient funds. Is there perhaps another payment method you’d like to try?”

She hands the card back and you take it.

“Uh, no, no that’s OK. I’ll just, uh, cancel the upgrade. No biggie. Thanks anyway.”

You turn to make your escape, but she stops you.

“Mr. Strider? Your boarding pass.”

"Oh, right…"

She speedily types for a few more seconds, then grabs the pass out of her little printer and holds it out to you, leaning forward.

“I’ve switched you to an aisle seat, a bit more legroom, yeah? Seat twenty-five C.”

She’s lowered her voice slightly, and finishes the sentence with a friendly little wink. God, this woman is so unbelievably patient, and polite, and good at her job, and you hate her. You hate her so fucking much. But not nearly as much as you hate yourself.

“Cool, thanks.”

"Of course. Have a pleasant flight, sir!"

"Yeah…"

You grab the pass and bolt.

*****

“Dave? Can you hear me? Just try to breathe slowly, OK? Here, have some water!”

You look up, and Jade is crouching down right in front of you, one hand on your arm, the other holding out one of her water bottles to you. You don’t know when she did that. You don’t really know how long you’ve been sitting here against this tree absolutely losing your shit in front of this random adorable weird chick. You think about trying to say something, but your head is still spinning and your heart is still racing, so you just take her water instead and take a sip.

“I think you’re having a panic attack, which means it’ll pass! Just try to relax, OK? Um, think of something nice!”

 _Something nice._ What do you possibly have to think about that’s _nice?_ Other than the fact that you’re not just a foot in an expensive shoe right now.

“I guess someone was listening…” you find yourself mumbling between labored breaths.

“What?”

“Nothing. Sorry. I’m sorry. Jesus, fuck, I’m really, really fucking sorry. This is - I swear I’m not usually…”

“Hey, you don’t have to apologize, Dave! Honestly, I think most people would probably react pretty similarly in this situation. It is, um, really, _really_ horrible…”

“You seem to be holding up just fine.”

“Ha, well, biologist! A strong stomach is kinda a job requirement.”

"Yeah, but…"

You don't know how exactly to finish that sentence, even if you wanted to. You don't care what kind of biologist she is, there's no way anything she's encountered in her work has been anywhere near as gruesome as this. But she's still just pushing right through whatever she's feeling because it needs to be done. It's why she came out here, and it's why you came out here, too. You take another sip and do your best to force yourself to suck it up and stand up, but you don’t get very far in the process before Jade breaks the silence.

“Well, you seem to be doing better now. Do you think you’ll be OK here for a few minutes while I go in and try to find the thingie? I’m really sorry to rush, it’s just that it looks like the sun’s starting to go down.”

“No. No, fuck that, I’m not just gonna let you go in there alone.”

“It’s fine, Dave, really! Biologist, remember? And, um…”

She looks down and bites her bottom lip nervously.

“What?”

“It’s just that, well, it’s probably pretty bad in there, and I don’t want, um…”

 _She doesn’t want you to freak the fuck out again and get in her way._ For a fleeting second, you almost wish you were just a foot in a shoe.

“Yeah, I get it. It’s fine. I’ll be fine here. Just be careful, OK?”

She looks at you with concern and pity in her eyes. You take another sip of water and look away so you don’t just start crying again. _God, you’re worthless._

“OK, I will. I’ll be right back!”

“Yeah…”

With a gentle squeeze of your arm and a warm smile, she stands and starts making her way into the slaughterhouse that was once first class. You keep looking away.

Just a few minutes later, you hear Jade’s footsteps coming back down the aisle, and you finally force yourself to look back in that direction. She steps out of the plane. She looks at you and forces a smile onto her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes, and holds up a big, black, walkie-talkie with one hand and a thumbs up with the other. You return the thumbs up and stand, very ready to not spend a single second longer than necessary in this god-forsaken place. You turn around back towards the direction you came from, listening to her footsteps, waiting until they get close enough for you to start walking without leaving her more than a few feet behind - it’s not like she can’t very easily catch up.

Then the sound of Jade’s footsteps is suddenly drowned out by the sounds of trees shaking, snapping, and falling hard to the ground. You turn around, and behind the plane, you see movement through the trees approaching in a straight line, quickly, right towards you. You hear an almost deafening cacophony of grinding, reverberating metal, as a large tree falls directly onto the plane, knocking it flat to the ground, in turn snapping the bent trunks and branches that had been propping it up, and sending splinters and blood flying out. You don’t know what you’re seeing, but you know it’s enough. You turn away again.

“Dave! _Run!"_

You hear Jade call out behind you, but you’re already running.

And you keep running. For the second time in two days, you feel like your lungs are on fire, but you keep running. Trees continue to shake and crash behind you, and as much ground as you cover, you don’t hear the sounds getting any softer. _It’s following you. It’s faster than you._ You let out a desperate cry of fear at the realization, despite your lack of breath, and the ache in your chest becomes a sharp pang. Bushes and low-hanging branches scratch at your face and arms as you dart past, becoming less avoidable as the jungle slowly darkens around you, but they don’t slow you down. Nothing slows you down, until, without warning, the ground where your foot lands gives way, sending your leg overextended beyond your ankle and your body flying forward. Your landing is rough, but soft, and when you look up, you see the ocean ahead. You’re back on the beach, but as you frantically look to the left and then the right, you realize that it’s not your beach. There’s nothing here. No one. Only you.

_Jade._

You thought she was right behind you. _Or did you?_ Maybe at first, but as the panic and the exhaustion flooded your brain, you forgot to care about anyone or anything at all besides escaping whatever was chasing you. You stand, wincing when you get weight back on your left foot and realizing that it’s injured from your misstep. You proceed more slowly and carefully, and realize that it’s painful, but not unbearable. You can stand, and you can walk, but you can’t run. You stand and look back into the jungle for a moment, hoping that Jade may still come tumbling out. But she doesn’t. She won’t. She’s faster, and stronger, and more resilient than you. If she was ever right behind you, she would have been ahead of you before long.

“ _Jade!_ ”

You call as loudly as your spent lungs will let you towards the trees, knowing deep down that it’s futile, but not knowing what else to do.

“ _Jade!_ ” you try again. You hear a faint sound of grinding metal, and you freeze. But it’s more distant than before, and when you hear it again, it’s further still. The trees in front of you are motionless and soon, it’s completely quiet apart from the gently lapping waves behind you. It’s dark, getting darker every second, and soon, you can’t see past the first few trees at all.

So you just walk. You look to see where the sun is sinking into the ocean and up to the stars beginning to appear above, pretending for a moment that you know enough for that to be of any help at all, and you pick a direction. At least if you stick to the beach, if you're wrong, you’ll eventually circle the whole island, and then you’re bound to find your camp, right? Unless your foot falls off, or you starve to death first, but at this point, you barely care which of those results you get. So you just walk.

The sun soon finishes its decent past the horizon, and you take off your shades and hang them off the neck of your shirt. Without them, the light from the moon and the stars are just enough to illuminate the beach ahead of you and the surface of the water beyond. Every so often, you glance to your right into the treeline, hoping that you might find anything but the blackest darkness looking back at you, but you don’t. _You can’t go back in to look for her now. It would literally be no use._ You know it’s true, but you can’t convince yourself that the real reason you’re walking alone, slowly, on the beach, isn't that you are a useless, selfish, good for nothing coward. You almost want to go die alone in the pitch black jungle just to prove that you’re not, but you can’t even bring yourself to care enough to do that. You’re just too tired.

You don’t know how long you walked, at least an hour, when you look up and think you see the faintest shadows on the beach ahead, backlit by a fiery orange glow. You get closer and see that it’s real - the huge middle section of the plane’s cabin, the smaller pieces of engine and wing, the smaller outlines of makeshift tents and lean-tos, and finally, the moving silhouettes of people. You guessed the right direction, but the relief you feel is short-lived, as you realize that you’re going to have to explain to everyone why you’re alone. _Maybe it’s not too late to run blindly into the jungle?_ No. You stop walking and sigh, steeling yourself for the well-deserved consequences for your failure, and then continue on towards your fellow survivors.

You’re close now, close enough that you can start to recognize faces and voices of the people gathered ahead, whether or not you have any idea what their names are. You see Rose, sitting and chatting with someone by the fire. Further back, you just barely see John, now sitting upright on his own in his shelter, reading a book by flashlight. You hear a bark.

_Wait. You hear a bark?_

You see a dog. A big, white, fluffy dog, and it’s running towards you, very quickly. Before you know it, you’re down in the sand, rough, muddy paws on your chest, and a large, slimy tongue on your face.

“Bec! No! Off!”

You hear quick and heavy footsteps in the sand approaching you, and a familiar voice. Bec backs away and stands beside you, wagging and barking excitedly, and you push yourself upright to see what you’re not yet sure you believe.

“Dave?”

Yes, it’s her. Coconut Girl freezes in place just ten feet in front of you, jaw hanging wide.

“Jade?”

She grins, then continues her run, practically dives into the sand beside you and throws her arms around your neck and squeezes with all the strength of a professional badass, machete-wielding, untouched-wilderness-trekking biologist.

“Oh my God, Dave, I can’t believe it! I thought… I didn’t know what happened to you! I thought you were behind me! And then you weren’t, and I tried to find you, but then it got dark, and I got all the way back to camp, and I wanted to go back out and look, but everyone said we should wait until morning, and… _oh!_ I’m so glad you’re OK!”

She squeezes you tighter, but you manage to wiggle your arms enough to both loosen her embrace and return it.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Jesus, I thought you were… I thought _you_ were behind _me_ , but then… I mean, I wouldn’t have just left you, I just…”

“It’s OK! We’re both OK, and we made it back, and that’s all that matters!”

“Yeah.” You decide to leave it at that, grateful to have been excused from having to further explain why you abandoned her to be eaten by a mysterious jungle monster to save your own sorry ass. You hug for a few more seconds in an unusually comfortable silence before she releases you and sits back.

“And, holy shit, you actually found your dog!”

“Haha! More like he found me! Right buddy? _Who’s the best and smartest boy? You are! Yes you are!_ ”

Bec jumps right back on top of you in his excitement to get to Jade and start licking her face.

“Oh, Bec, no! Get off! I’m so sorry, he’s not usually like this, I guess he’s just really happy to see me, after everything…”

“It’s OK. It’s fine.”

You reach up and scratch Bec’s ear, which he immediately leans into. He opens his mouth in a big, goofy, dog smile, and his tongue rolls out, dripping drool onto your already muddy shirt.

“Haha! Looks like he likes you! Come on, let’s go find you a new shirt!”

She stands and extends her hand down to you. You take it and carefully get up onto your good foot.

“Hey, Jade, hold on. That thing - did you see it?”

She smiles nervously.

“What? Oh, um, no, I didn’t see anything. Maybe it was a boar or something? Or maybe it was just Bec? I’m sure it was nothing. Come on.”

_No, that wasn’t a boar, and it wasn’t a dog, and it sure as fuck wasn’t nothing. It was much bigger, much stronger, and much more dangerous. You’re absolutely certain. Unless…_

Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe your trauma-addled, oxygen-deprived brain was just taking something normal and relatively harmless and blowing it way out of proportion. _Yes, obviously, that’s what it was. Jesus, dude, there’s no such thing as mysterious fucking jungle monsters. What is wrong with you?_

“Yeah, probably nothing,” you respond quietly. Without letting go of each other’s hands, you walk the rest of the way back into your camp.


End file.
